The Cult of Sutek (9 page)

Rondel hurried them along before the man composed himself enough to get killed.

Dendera, on the other hand, remained emotionless until they neared Girga’s market. Standing in front of a whorehouse, a slender woman showing entirely too much skin, and wearing far too much perfume, reached out and cupped the young girl’s breast while grabbing Andrasta’s shoulder.

Dendera let out a yelp.

“She is not a relative or a friend, yes?” asked the woman. “I’ll give you eighteen senyu.”

Andrasta shrugged the woman’s arm away. She looked down at the whore’s partially exposed chest and midriff with disgust. Both of which Rondel thought could do with more covering. Droopy skin marked her as someone much older than she pretended. He coughed after inhaling the prostitute’s heavily applied perfume.

“She is not for sale,” said Andrasta.

“Twenty-five?”The woman grabbed Andrasta’s arm again. She fluttered her thick eyelashes, accentuated with painted blue lids. “Come now, there must be a price we can agree on. I must have her.” She paused, gliding her tongue across her lower lip while letting her eyes travel up and down Andrasta’s body. “Perhaps there is something
extra
I can do to sweeten the deal.”

Andrasta yanked her arm away. “I don’t want you, whore. And the girl has enough sense not to debase herself.”

The woman’s face twisted from seduction to outrage. Her mouth curled into a circle as a wad of spit flew out and smacked Andrasta in the cheek.

Oh, this is going to be bad.
Rondel’s hand drifted to his short sword.

“You dress like a man and think to judge me? Only the gods know what’s between your—”

Andrasta’s forehead smashed into the woman’s face, cutting off the rest of her insult. A sickening crunch from a broken nose preceded the spray of blood that took to the air. People nearby barked in surprise as the woman collapsed to the ground.

No one in the crowd came to her aid.

A burly man pushed through the doorway of the whorehouse. His eyes widened at the sight of the prostitute’s limp body. He came forward with closed fists when he noticed Andrasta’s forehead decorated with blood.

Andrasta let him close the distance, then stepped into a punch that collided with his jaw. He fell on top of the whore, dazed.

Andrasta spat on them both.

Rondel tugged at her arm, ignoring the shocked expression on Dendera’s face. “We need to get out of here before the watch gets word of this. We stand out enough as it is. Assaulting two people isn’t going to do us any favors.”

“The whore started it.”

“And you more than finished it. Now, wipe the blood off your face.”

He hurried them away, wary of any more danger.

Moving further away from the whorehouse, Rondel noticed children darting in and out of the crowds, brushing into many of the finer dressed citizens before escaping with hands full of money or jingling jewelry.

Gods, they start young.

Further in the shadows of dark alleys, glimpses of the men those children would grow up to be waited patiently for unsuspecting travelers.

Danger is sometimes where you least expect it.

Rondel’s hand tickled the hilt of his sword to calm himself.

The rest of their journey through the city was filled with far less excitement. Even at the center of Girga, in the midst of jugglers, dancers, sword swallowers, and fire eaters, they made it through the throng of people without incident.

* * *

The king’s residence sat at the top of a hill two miles from the eastern gate. A barrier of thorny shrubs butted against the ten foot limestone wall surrounding it. Atop the wall, every hundred feet, rested a small, guard outpost. An archer patrolled each one.

Rondel tried to make up for Andrasta’s intimidating glare by putting on his best smile while striding toward the gate. He acted as though the six guards approaching him were nothing more than a bother.

“Stop where you are,” called one of the guards as they closed. “The festivities are behind you. This is not a place for sightseeing.”

Rondel’s smile widened as he slipped into his old persona of Rondel the Bard. “Thank you, my good man. My partner and I are foreigners here. However, I visited this great city many times in the past and once called King Horus my friend. I hoped I could find an audience with him this evening as we have something I’m sure he’d be most interested in.”

The guard scowled. “What are you going on about?”

Rondel shook his head. “I apologize. I am Rondel, once known as Rondel the Minstrel or Rondel the Bard, the greatest musician, poet, performer, and, dare I say, entertainer of this age. Perhaps any age prior.”

The guardsmen snorted. “You definitely have the arrogance of Rondel. But you look and sound nothing like him.” Rondel swallowed, suddenly more aware of the rasp in his throat. “Besides, everyone knows Rondel died years ago. Finally slept with the wrong woman from what we heard.”

He cleared his throat. “There is some truth to that. But as you can see I am indeed alive.” He pointed to the scar at his neck. “And I assure you it is quite the tale to tell. I’d be more than happy to have your master allow you a seat at his table when I recite it to him inside.”

“The king isn’t accepting visitors at this time. Even if you are who you say you are, he has more pressing things to concern himself with. Come back when the festivities are over in two weeks.”

Andrasta swore. “Two weeks. We can’t—”

Rondel raised a hand to silence her. “I am not just an old friend seeking an audience to reminisce about times gone. I have something for your master that I’m sure he has sorely missed. I’d love nothing better than to return it to him.”

The guard’s eyes traveled up and down Rondel’s person. “And what might that be?”

Rondel gestured for Andrasta to come forward with Dendera. The girl put up the faintest of struggles as if the weight of the situation finally sunk in. He forced her head up. “His daughter.”

The guard’s eyes widened. “Dendera,” he whispered. He called over his shoulder. “Open the gate! Send word to the king. His daughter has returned!”

Rondel bowed in appreciation. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

Chapter 5

One of her father’s guards led Dendera quickly to Horus’s study. Another ushered Rondel and Andrasta to the dining hall.

The guard held her at the elbow like she might sprint away at any moment.

Because that worked out so well before
.

The guard knocked on the study’s door.

“Enter,” came her father’s voice from inside.

The guard opened the door, pushed her in, and latched it closed without a word.

Alone, Horus bolted across the room, wrapping Dendera in a tight embrace. Despite her anger at being returned, she leaned into him, placing her head on his thick chest as he dropped his bearded chin on the top of her head. He smelled of caramel, a weakness her father indulged in when stressed. They held each other for several moments, neither speaking.

She had missed him greatly.

Maybe he’ll understand how important this is to me now.

“You scared me to death. I thought I lost you.” His voice sounded tired, on the verge of breaking.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Horus released his embrace and held her out at arm’s length. He frowned, wrinkled eyes showing the hurt that his mouth conveyed. “But not sorry you left?”

“I didn’t want to leave. I had to.”

His arms fell to his sides. “I’m sorry you don’t want this marriage. But it must happen.”

“I can’t believe that even after I ran away, you still want me to marry Kafele.”

“I need you to do this.”

“But you promised me that—”

“I know what I promised.” His calm voice was a stark contrast to hers. “But too many people are counting on me to protect them. This is the only way I see how.”

“Do you think they are more worthy of your protection than your own daughter?”

He grimaced and looked away. “This is not easy for me.” He wheeled. “I know it will be hard, but you will have more than most could ever dream of. Land. Clothes. Servants. Money. Yes, you will have a man you do not love sharing your bed. But there are far worse things in life than that. Emperor Chuma refuses to do his duty and stop Menetnashte’s encroachment on my lands. Therefore, it is up to me to protect them. Otherwise thousands might die, young and old alike. Are their lives less important than your perfect marriage?”

Dendera said nothing, casting her eyes down in shame.

What can I say to that?

He nodded. A small sigh passed his lips. “We can speak about this more tonight. There might be things I can negotiate with Kafele as part of the marriage contract to make the situation more bearable for you. Right now, people are expecting to see me. Us. We can’t hide here any longer, and I still need to speak with Rondel in private about what happened. Knowing him, he’s itching to tell the story to all who would listen.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t already telling it to all who’ll listen.”

“With any other bard, I’d agree. But Rondel was never like that. He had class most others lacked.”

Dendera rolled her eyes.
I wonder if he’ll still think so highly of Rondel when he and Andrasta start asking for money.

Her father grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I love you.”

He gave her a hug that Dendera did not have the will to reciprocate. Her father didn’t seem to notice.

“All right. Let’s go. You can help keep Jahi away from Rondel and Andrasta. At least for a little while. I’d rather him not bring up his silly rumors about the Cult of Sutek before they’ve at least gotten settled.”

* * *

Andrasta had seen only glimpses of Rondel the Bard. An occasional comment, a piece of knowledge beyond what she had expected, perhaps even a shift in his tone or a mannerism around the campfire all spoke of a life so unlike hers.

None of that prepared her for the sudden change in behavior outside the walls of the king’s residence and every breath thereafter. It was as if her partner had slipped into an entirely different skin. The transition had been so seamless it made her question which Rondel was real—the man she had traveled with, or the one she saw laughing and carrying on around the king’s dinner table.

Regardless, she gained a new perspective of him while listening to him recount how they saved Dendera from bandits and the battle with the wulfron afterward. The way he wove the tale, he made it seem like even the time she spent catching perch in the river was a struggle so mighty that if she had failed, the world of Untan might collapse.

After Rondel completed the tale, the king thanked them profusely. Andrasta seized on the moment of gratitude and asked about their reward. Rondel seemed appalled she would suggest such a thing.

The king ignored her comment and said that with his daughter home the real celebration would begin.

They received seats in the great banquet hall. Servants and cooks hustled about seeing to everyone’s needs.

When she finally had a moment alone with Rondel, she demanded they seek out their reward.

“There is a time and place to bring up such things. Now isn’t it. Enjoy yourself for the evening and leave things to me,” he had told her.

She sneered recalling the comment.

Enjoy myself? Here?
She watched Rondel laugh and joke with the king and those in his inner circle.
I’m as uncomfortable as you are relaxed.

Despite being partners, servants sat her far away from Rondel.
Wouldn’t want me to say or do anything that might embarrass someone.

She overheard Rondel tell old stories from his past between bites. He deflected questions about what happened to his hand and throat several times until he was practically forced to address the issue. She snorted while listening to him speak of his imprisonment and escape.

The man could make cleaning one’s nails a harrowing adventure. And those idiots hang on every word.

Eventually, Andrasta stopped listening. She could only take so much of his nonsense.

“Is everything all right?” came a voice to her right, rising over the din of conversation.

Andrasta turned and met the eyes of the king’s son. He had tried speaking with her and Rondel earlier, but Dendera had ushered him away before any real conversation began.

Jahi looked to be around fourteen years of age and much like his sister, had blond hair and fair skin, in contrast to the tanned, dark-haired look of most in the region. From what Rondel told her, they inherited the physical traits of their mother, a foreigner to Iget. Jahi had that tall, lanky look most boys get when they start to come into their own.

“What?” she snapped.

The boy gestured to her plate. Amidst the pile of fat and bones rested a chunk of lamb. She had stabbed the food with her knife, but rather than slice off a piece to eat, her hand had twisted it, creating a hole in the center of the cut as if she was opening someone with her dagger.

She drew her hand away. “I’m fine.”

The boy took the seat beside her on the bench. He smelled clean with a hint of vanilla. She sneered.

Nobility.

She snatched up a buttered roll.

“Rondel holds your skills in high regard.”

“Don’t believe everything that comes out of his mouth.”

The boy grabbed a roll for himself and took a bite. “Oh, I don’t. I’m not as gullible as many here. However, I know that the best lies have truth to them, and I can tell you are more or less what his stories say you are.”

“Which is?”

“A great warrior.”

“I see.” She grabbed a goblet of wine, taking a drink.

“There is a lot of turmoil in our lands right now. My father could use more great warriors.”

“So your sister said.”

“Will you join my father’s army then?”

She chuckled. The boy looked young, but spoke like a man. “Does your father have you do all his recruiting? I’d have thought he’d have a general or someone with more experience.”